Commentary
As I drove up to Pennywise Preserve last Saturday, I expected to see several other Island hikers waiting to join the pack. What I saw instead was an older man, sitting on a rock, legs crossed, no car, no bike . . . just by himself.
“Are you here for the cross-Island hike?” I asked. He smiled warmly and said, “Yes.” I informed him that I just heard the group was 45 minutes behind schedule, then worked on getting my backpack organized.
“Have you ever done a hike of this length? Are you able to do it?” he asked me.
Editor’s Note: What follows is the text of the commencement address delivered by West Tisbury resident Dan Waters to the 2012 graduating class at the Martha’s Vineyard Public Charter School last Sunday.
By DAN WATERS
Welcome to one of the scariest moments you’ll ever live through.
The day you were born was probably scary, but at least you didn’t see it coming. Your wedding day will be scary, but at least it’s voluntary — and people back out of marriages all the time, as we know.
Recently my wife and I drove to Edgartown to meet friends for an age-appropriate movie, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. It was the 4:15 p.m. screening, so considering the movie, which we liked and now refer to as Slumdog Pensioners, the theatre was packed. After the movie we had an early supper at an Edgartown restaurant and drove home.
On Memorial Day Islanders of all ages came together at the Oak Grove Cemetery in Vineyard Haven to honor and pay tribute to U.S. servicemen and servicewomen who have died at war. The day began with a parade that started at the American Legion Hall. Led by a color guard made up of members of the U.S. Coast Guard stationed at Menemsha, the parade marched along Pine Tree Road around to State Road and finally to the entrance to the cemetery. The Tisbury fire department ladder truck held a flag high above the heads of the parade marchers as they entered the cemetery.
In my home, on a white shelf in the living room is a framed page of the Vineyard Gazette from 1989 announcing this old house’s 300th birthday. The notice describes the Island history of the building, pulled from scholars’ notes and public records, and has served as a source of pride and honor for my family for 23 years.
Recently, a friend of mine came to the Island to visit me.
“I love old houses like this,” he said, eyeing the exposed beams. “It feels like we’re in a whaler.”
Wasque is gone.
A great human conceit is to measure time in lifetimes. Regardless of what has existed long before us, and what will exist long after — our time is our time. So Wasque, as we know her, is gone. She may come back, may reform or even expand, but not in our lifetime. So we mourn her passing from our lives.